All Will Be Well
by Sottanaprima
Summary: Actor does not like not being in control, and he is disturbed by the consequences.
1. Chapter 1

All Will Be Well

Part One

"You're kidding!" Casino didn't mince his words. The Warden just looked at him. "You are kidding, right? This is a wind-up. They're not serious. This is wind-up. I signed up to do a job, not be a fuckin' school teacher."

Actor could see the muscle in Garrison's jaw twitching as he fought the urge to respond to Casino's outburst.

"I agree it's a bit out of our usual line," Garrison conceded in a calm voice, "but it makes strategic sense."

He paused to ensure that he had their whole attention before continuing. "The situation in Italy is a shambles. The Allies need all the help they can get."

"And three of us speak Italian. Perhaps that tipped the balance."

Garrison's jaw relaxed as he blessed again the day he'd selected the tall Italian despite his age, height and looks. "That's part of it," he confirmed. "We need the partisans to tie up the Germans behind the lines; that'll give our forces a better chance of making a breakthrough. But what we tend to forget is that today's partisan is yesterday's bank clerk. Our job is to go in and give them some training – that way some of them might live long enough to do the job more effectively." He looked at each of their faces, silently inviting questions, then smoothed out the map on the table. "Okay, this is what we're gonna do.

"We get a lift out to Sicily tonight, and we jump in here tomorrow night." He indicated an area to the west of Genova and north of Savona. "There was a big arms drop there last night. Our first job is to make sure that those arms are distributed and stored correctly. Then we spend a week training the locals. Casino, you're on explosives; Chief, security; Goniff, supplies. We all get involved in weapons, CQB and hand-to-hand. We let them pick a target as a passing out exercise." He looked up, inviting questions.

"So while we're sweatin' our butts off, what's His Highness doin'?" Casino wanted to know.

Garrison smiled at the belligerent questioner. "Actor will be running round interpreting and generally keeping the peace." Goniff sniggered and Chief's mouth twitched at the thought of Actor doing anything so uncouth, while Actor merely raised an eyebrow. "He'll be judging how they're responding and making adjustments as we roll. Any more questions?

"Right. Casino, you'll be showing them when, where and how to use explosives. Not just the right amount of the right stuff – what to blow up when as well, the strategy as well as the practicals. And you're gonna be mainly on your own, so you've got twenty-four hours to pick Actor's brain for the words you're gonna need." He paused just long enough not to give Casino chance to ask a question, then moved on.

"Chief – security. Around camp and on patrol. Access and escape routes. Passwords and signals. Long and short distances. Going to ground." He smiled briefly. "And since you're going to be teachin' 'em how to communicate without words, I expect you to have least requirement for Actor's services." Chief nodded in agreement, reserving his doubts for later.

"Goniff – supplies. Who'll have it, where it'll be, the easiest way to lift it. Getting in and getting out without attracting attention. Leaving no evidence. You're probably going to be doing a lot of question and answer sessions with the biggest group, so Actor will be mainly with you.

"Actor will be our roving ambassador – and I do mean ambassador." He looked Actor in the eye. "You're going to need all your diplomatic skills.

"I'm going be working on radio communications and strategy with the leaders." He half-smiled. "We move out in an hour. By the time we get to Sicily I want your plans for who you think you should train, size of group you want to deal with, and a timetable of what you plan to cover over how many sessions. Any questions?" He hardly paused. "Good. Go pack. We meet in the hall at 1900." He straightened up. "Actor – with me."

In Garrison's office Actor made himself comfortable in the guest chair, crossing his long legs and filling his pipe while the Warden shuffled the papers on his desk. Actor was applying match to tobacco as the Warden finally slumped into his chair.

"About what precisely are you unhappy?"

Despite his worries, Garrison had to smile: trust his sagacious and perceptive second to be right there with him.

Actor blew smoke up towards the ceiling. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is not a training exercise, is it? This is a political exercise. To win over the Communists."

"You bugged headquarters now?" Garrison fished in his desk drawer to produce a bottle and two glasses, and did the honours.

"The war is coming to an end, albeit a very bloody one. It makes sense for someone to be thinking about what happens next. Cheers."

"The group we're going to call themselves Garibaldini."

"A rose by any other name..."

"I need to know if you've got a problem with that."

"With what?"

"Actor! The success of this mission is going to hang on our ability to work with the Communists. I need to know if you can do that."

"I know nothing about your past, Warden, but that does not lead me to question your capabilities." He sighed at the Warden's fierce and angry expression. "I will admit that I am more conte than contadino, but you may rest assured that I can work with the Garibaldini." He smiled gently, causing the Warden to wonder, not for the first time, if he would ever fathom the man.

GGG

Things started to go wrong as soon as they landed on a clear plateau in the wooded hills north of Savona: the drop had been flawless, but their contacts were not there, and Chief could not find any sign of them having been there. But there was no sign of the Germans, either.

Switching to plan B, they set off to meet up with a second contact at a safe house located a couple of hours walk up the valley. Keeping to the woods, the lack of moonlight helped them to keep up a reasonable pace without leaving too many obvious signs, but as they neared their destination Chief slowed the pace right down so that the whole team knew to concentrate on leaving no spoor. The last mile took as long to cover as the first three, and by the time they reached the safe house the adrenalin had built up again in all of them.

The safe house was a hut that had seen better days, located in a clearing that was inadequate as a killing ground. Chief took his time scouting the area, causing Garrison to consult his watch and worry about the arrival of dawn, but he knew better than to hurry the Indian. Instead he consulted his map, deciding which one of the three locations he'd preselected would become their headquarters.

Chief's soft bird call announced his return. The Warden's questioning look was met with a curt shake of the head as Chief moved up close to deliver his report in the softest tones. "Nothin'. Place ain't been used for seven, maybe ten days. I don' like it."

Garrison had come to respect the Indian's instincts, and, besides, he didn't like it either. As a rendezvous the place was – _wrong_. "Point Y." He waved to the other Gorillas, who broke up their defensive circle to move into line behind Chief.

Another hour later and the stars were starting to disappear. By the light of the unrisen sun Chief identified a largish stand of trees that stood above a line of scree, and from the lie of the land he surmised that a brook ran through the grove. He signed his proposal to Garrison, who agreed to his checking it out. The rest of the team made up a defensive circle again while Garrison tried to keep track of Chief.

Chief had hardly been gone ten minutes when they heard a vixen call, a sharp yelping that chilled all their souls: it meant the Chief was in trouble and needed help. It was followed by a fox snarl: the Warden should come alone.

The Warden crawled as far as he could before getting to his feet and crouch-running from bush to rock to tree. As he neared the edge of the copse he settled behind a rock and made a reasonable attempt at a hawk call. A couple of minutes elapsed before Chief appeared in the shadows, accompanied by two men. Both men carried rifles.

They weren't wearing uniform. And the angle of Chief's head told Garrison that the men were probably partisans.

Putting his trust in his scout he slowly stood up, arms held away from his body, then walked to the edge of the copse. "Buon giorno, signori. Fa cattivo tempo per far' un giro della città."

"Nella città tutti i pettirossi fanno il nido."

"Antonio?"

"No, Tenente Garrison. They call me Giovanni. Antonio is dead these past two days. And his men also. That gruppo is gone – all wiped out. You will call in your men and then I will take you to Commandante Enrico."

GGG

The sun was high in the sky when the Warden and Actor returned to the campfire where the other cons had staked their claim. Goniff and Casino were wrapped in blankets and fast asleep, but Chief was sitting cross-legged on his blanket, a mug of something forgotten in his hand. He watched as they approached, reading the grim looks on their faces. He took the pot off the hot stone that rested half in the fire and poured coffee into the enamel mugs that stood waiting.

The two men sat on the trampled ground and drank the hot coffee in silence.

Eventually Garrison said, "They picked up the drop. We don't know why, but Enrico reckons that they must've thought they could fight off any attack with those weapons, so they went back to their hideout. They didn't set sentries." Chief's eyebrows shot up. "The Germans sneaked in and wiped them out. Just a few grenades, with snipers picking off anyone who tried to escape."

The silence fell again while Garrison brooded over his coffee.

Eventually Chief asked, "How many?"

Garrison didn't look up: he was miles away. Actor said quietly, "Twenty-three men, five women and three children. And they think four more who were too mutilated to identify."

Chief closed his eyes.

GGG

After they'd rested for a couple of hours, Garrison went back to talk to the leader of this Maquis group. Enrico, or Commandante Enrico as he liked to be called, ran a tight ship and made it quite clear that he did not require US assistance to run his group. His communications officer would contact London and arrange for a pickup either tonight or tomorrow night. In the meantime he allowed that Garrison's men could help out around the camp, Garrison arguing that it would allow Enrico's men some respite from the constant tension they all lived under. But the concession was hollow: Garrison's men were to be accompanied by one of Enrico's partisans at all times.

Briefing his men, the Warden told them to forget the mission – it was aborted. The new goal was to make a good impression on Commandante Enrico's men. The Warden set a deadline of 4pm, when they could all return to their camp to get some sleep before their expected exit flight that night.

Casino wasn't happy about the arrangements and let everyone know. Garrison was howling mad - but kept quiet.

If Enrico was a martinet, his men were more relaxed and happy to meet up with the US Army commandos. Despite the lack of a common language, Goniff made friends with his partisan by doing simple magic tricks with the man's children before going out on sentry duty. Chief won his partisan over by showing him a new way of setting and baiting snares and identifying some edible flora. Casino, whose command of Italian was improving, talked explosives with his counterpart, both sides profiting from the exchange but also enjoying a shared sense of humour.

After checking on the non-Italian speakers, Garrison attached himself to Enrico's ADC and passed on what he could about Allied positions in the south of Italy as well as more general war news, gleaning snippets of intelligence in return.

No-one worried about Actor. After all, the man could look after himself. Even when he was half-an-hour late for their rendezvous it never occurred to any of them to worry.

Chief saw him first, limping badly on his right leg but with his head held high. The Indian's blood froze as, even at that distance, Actor's eyes sought him out and then he twitched his head slightly to the right.

"Warden – trouble!" Chief was up and running.

Trusting the Indian, Garrison dropped his plate and followed. Goniff and Casino exchanged glances, shrugged their shoulders, and joined the race.

The two partisans on either side of Actor turned their rifles towards the approaching men and waved them to stop. A third figure was almost hidden behind the tall Italian, but now they all noticed her, and that she had a pistol pointed at Actor's kidneys. It was then that they noticed that Actor's hands were tied behind his back.

Crushing down his anger, Garrison demanded in Italian, "What the hell is going on?"

The younger of the two partisans, who seemed the angrier of the two, let rip with a stream of dialect that Garrison couldn't hope to follow. Shaking his head in despair, he caught a glimpse of Commandante Enrico coming to join the group.

The Commandante was a strange figure even in that strange setting. He could've been an old-looking twenty-five or a young-looking fifty, but his eyes had seen too much, and his nightmares were memories of horrors experienced but pushed aside in the struggle to survive. He had survived this long by being strong, clever and determined, and he had survived where many a more compassionate man had perished. His face was always stern, and his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes emphasised his unbending attitude.

The team watched as the Commandante swept past and up to the older of Actor's captors, and demanded to know what had happened. As they spoke dialect, Garrison had to wait until the Commandante deigned to communicate with him.

After a few minutes consultation, Enrico turned to Garrison and said, "Your man was caught raping this woman. For that he will be shot." Then he turned on his heel and marched off while his partisans used their rifles to urge Actor to move on.

Stunned, it took Casino's comment of "They've gotta be kidding!" to bring Garrison back to life. He moved quickly in front of Actor, forcing the group to stop.

"You alright?"

"I've had better days."

"You hurt?"

"Blow to the calf, one to the head."

"What happened?"

"One minute I was talking to Beppe there," Actor nodded to the younger man, "then I was hit on the head. When I came round the woman had appeared. Her uncle appeared soon after. Beppe told him that he'd caught me in flagrante with his woman."

Garrison suddenly looked awkward and embarrassed. "Actor, I'm sorry but I've got to – Aw, to hell with it!" The awkwardness and embarrassment disappeared, to be replaced by determination tempered with comradeship. "The whole story is a pack of lies, isn't it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Any idea why?"

"No. We've hardly been here long enough to make friends, never mind enemies." He jumped as the girl dug the business end of her pistol into his spine. "I think I am being asked to move."

"Chief, you got your blades?"

"Two."

"You and Casino, go with Actor. Check out where they take him, case the joint, stay as close as you can, okay? Goniff, go with them; when they stop, report to me at Enrico's tent." Without waiting for an acknowledgement of his orders, Garrison strode off after the Commandante, planning his line of attack.

"When's the court martial?" he demanded.

"No court martial. He will be shot immediately."

"What?" Garrison was stunned by the arbitrary justice of the man.

"He was caught in the act of rape. For that he will die."

"No. Not Actor. He's not a rapist."

"Are you calling my daughter a liar?"

"Your – daughter?" Side-swiped, Garrison groped to find some way of countering the revelation.

"And Beppe has also testified."

"My man has the right to give his side of the story."

"Luisa has shown me the marks. And there are her marks on him. He is guilty. He will die for it."

The Warden was dumbfounded at the simple bloody-mindedness of the Commandante.

"Warden!" Goniff was standing just outside the tent flap, and two partisans had him covered. Inside the tent, another two were pointing their rifles at Garrison.

Goniff looked worried. "Think you'd better come, Warden. They're tyin' Actor to a stake."

Ignoring the rifles, Garrison followed Goniff at a sprint towards the edge of the camp. In the near distance he could see Actor, his head visible above the group of five or six men around him. His eyes were covered by a blindfold.

Casino and Chief were laid out face down on the grass, with two partisans sitting on each of their backs. As Garrison and Goniff approached, a dozen more partisans moved between them and their goal, armed not with rifles but with cudgels and sticks, knuckledusters and coshes.

Through the line of men Garrison watched in horror as the men around Actor moved away, picked up rifles and formed a line.

"Rico!"

It was a woman's voice, and she hurried up to the Commandante who was marching to take charge of the firing squad.

"Rico, wait!" Her Italian was simple enough for Garrison to understand, and he instinctively sidled nearer, not only to eavesdrop but to grab her as hostage for Actor's life if he had to.

"Gina."

"She is my daughter too."

"All the more reason –"

"No! No! You do not understand!"

"What is there to misunderstand? The man raped our daughter."

"No. Your daughter is frightened of you." The woman's voice wavered as her fear of her husband nearly overcame her courage. "She is frightened of what you will do when you find out that she has not bled these last two months." The two parents stared at each other, he blank and fierce, she succumbing to tears. "She says it is Beppe's child. They could not face your anger, so they decided to find someone else to take the blame." She collapsed to her knees. "You have to let him go. He is innocent."

The two stared at each other in silence, while around them Enrico's men avoided looking at the tableau of intransigent ruler and tearful petitioner.

Garrison held his breath.

Enrico looked down at his sobbing wife, his lean features harsh and cruel. Then he lifted his face and looked around until his eyes found his daughter: she was wrapped in Beppe's arms, her face hidden. But Beppe was watching the Commandante and his wife, and when Enrico's cold eyes asked their silent question, he couldn't withstand the icy attack. He dropped his gaze to the floor, confirming his and Luisa's guilt to Enrico.

Without a word, Commandante Enrico extended his hand to his wife and hauled her ungracefully to her feet. Then he made a signal with his hand and waved imperiously at his men, who lowered their weapons and, also without a word, herded around the hapless Beppe and Luisa and forced them to follow him back into camp.

Equally imperiously Garrison ordered Goniff to help Casino and Chief, then he was sprinting to where Actor still stood tied to the execution post.

"Actor!"

He touched the man's arm before brushing round behind him, removing first of all the blindfold and then slashing the ropes with his knife. Actor remained immobile, his face blank and rigid. Then slowly he brought his arms forward, and rubbed his wrists where the ropes had bitten into his flesh.

"Actor." Garrison watched as the dark eyes turned slowly to look at him. "You okay?" The inadequacy of the question made him want to laugh hysterically. He gripped the conman's forearm, needing to touch as much as he thought Actor would need the comfort of touch.

"There have been better days." He paused. "I think we need to get out of here." He nodded to where Chief and Goniff were checking a cut on Casino's face. "Let's check them out." As he started to speak there was an uncharacteristic unsteadiness in his voice, but it was disappearing by the time he finished.

Chief was nursing his wrist, and there were lumps on his cheekbones that were already starting to bruise. Casino had a cut on his temple and was holding his left thigh. They both looked shocked by the brutality of the events, but did not know how to express their thankfulness that Actor was still with them. Later, Garrison would recognise that Actor was guiding them as he so often did: even the horror of the past few minutes didn't seem to dent his capabilities. But they all noticed that Actor's hands were shaking slightly as he examined Casino's temple, although his voice was under control as he said, "Goniff, get the medical kit."

Two of Enrico's men had put their equipment in a neat pile at the edge of the camp, and placed their weapons next to it. On top they put a piece of paper and anchored it with a stone: the co-ordinates of the pick-up point and the signal for the pilot. Casino's fury was still blazing. "Great. Big of 'em. Thanks very much, Rico."

Actor's voice was cold as he cleaned the cut. "They could've killed us all, and got away with it. Enrico is being generous with us."

His analysis silenced them all.


	2. Chapter 2

All Will Be Well

Part Two

Two days after their return was the day of his regular meeting with Yvette. Garrison, suspecting how deeply the mission had affected his second, sought out Actor before lunch and silently handed him a chit to take a jeep for the afternoon. Actor nodded his thanks and, leaning gracefully on his cane, limped lightly into the kitchen, bracing himself for Casino's ribaldry. To his surprise, it was very mild: Actor suspected that something may have been said, and that disturbed him more than the usual teasing.

As he limped up to her door, it opened and Yvette appeared, inviting him in and looking more animated that he had ever seen her. She glowed with happiness as she whispered, "Lisette is home. Ma Lisette!" No-one could be immune to such strong emotions, and Actor found himself smiling back at her. "She is not very well – she was involved in some kind of accident – she didn't want me to worry – she is upstairs in bed now. But she is here!"

He noticed a movement at the top of the stairs and glanced up to see a tallish female figure wrapped in a pink dressing gown standing on the landing, looking down at them. Later he would remember that she was thin, that her cheeks were hollow and she looked ill. But for now all he registered as their eyes met was the look of horror, fear, hate and loathing on her face. And it was clearly directed at him.

It was the last straw.

Exuding charm, he smiled down at Yvette. "I am so pleased for you, my friend. But I cannot stay. I have just called to offer you my apologies – I have to visit the doctor. Oh, and to lend you this." He handed over a dog-eared copy of _Le Silence de la mer_. "I shall leave you to attend to your daughter – please render to her my best wishes." He turned his back on her protests, and was out of the door and back into the jeep as fast as his injured calf would allow.

Closing the door, Yvette turned to see her daughter looking down at her, shaking and with tears pouring down her cheeks. "Maman, il me faut téléphoner."

Fortunately Yvette did not yet connect the young woman's distress with the tall, handsome and charming GI who had just departed.

The phone interrupted Garrison's concentration, and he was uncertain if he was pleased or annoyed. When he heard the voice on the other end, his heart sank: they weren't sending them out again already, surely?

"I want to see you in my office immediately."

"Sir. What's it about?" he managed to ask, but the Major overrode him. "Oh, and bring that conman of yours with you." The phone was slammed down at the other end, causing Garrison to look at the receiver with annoyance. Sighing, he cleared his desk, picked up his jacket and cap, and with a glance out of the window collected his overcoat before heading for the cons' common room.

"Where's Actor?"

Casino looked up from his card game. "Gettin' his weekly jollies."

"Not back yet." Chief's response was less inflammatory.

"The Old Vicarage – right?" Chief nodded confirmation. "I've got to go to Headquarters. And they want to see Actor."

"What gives?"

"Don't know. But I don't think it's good."

"Another job?"

"No – no, I don't think so."

As he left the three cons looked at one another, and the speculation began, at first tentative, but, by the time Garrison returned within the half-hour, it was in the realms of the fanciful.

"My office!" Garrison didn't need to shout. They recognised his mood, and obediently trooped in after him, Goniff winning the wing chair, Chief gravitating towards the window while Casino rested one haunch on the Warden's desk. They watched him open his safe and bring out the large manila envelope.

Garrison had always assumed that the contents of his safe were well-known to his men, so a long time ago he had put certain items into that envelope, sealed it, signed on the seal and sellotaped over his signature. Now, in front of their openly curious eyes, he ripped the envelope open and poured the contents onto the desk. They knew that it contained bank notes: what they hadn't been able to identify were the four passports and related documents around which the cash had been packed. The notes were all of smallish denomination but represented most European countries, both occupied and free, together with a bundle of dollars.

He looked at each of the three men, and they responded to his worried expression. "I think Actor's gone. Done a runner." Garrison's sigh betrayed his distress. "Yvette's daughter – she recognised him and threw a fit. She's so bad they've had to sedate her. Yvette says he just – left." He paused. "This was over two hours ago."

"Shit!"

"Have you any idea where he might go?" He recognised by the sudden tinge of awkwardness in their expressions that the team had suddenly split into us and him again. Frustrated, he put his hands flat on his desk and leaned straight-armed on them, looking up into their deliberately blank faces.

"Look, I don't know what this is about. I just want you to find him, and tell him I'll back him to the hilt. I don't care what it is, I'll back him. Tell him I don't care what it is or how far back it goes. I need him here – we all need him." He nodded to the pile of money and documents in between them. "If he won't come back then I think the Army will take it out on you. You know what that means, and I won't be part of it. You'll find documents here for each of you, and enough money to give you all a good start. Take yours, and give Actor his. It's up to you whether you use them or whether you come back. But I'll say again – I want you all back. Whatever it is with Actor, we'll sort it out together."

They were all cold by the time Chief parked the jeep in a very exclusive avenue in Knightsbridge. Casino looked at the plush block of flats on the other side of the wide pavement: the Portland stone looked slightly pinkish in the light of the setting sun. "This it?"

Chief shook his head. "Round the corner. Grosvenor Court. Flat 6." He paused. "There's a garage round the back – same number." He looked at his two friends with unblinking eyes. "He'll have an alarm system. Electric and human. You two go up – don't mention me. I'll follow the human alarm. If we get lost we'll meet up at the pub over there – the Black Swan – at ten."

The two nodded, and got out onto the road before walking round to the pavement. When he thought they were far enough away, Casino asked, "So, you reckon Geronimo followed him here?"

Goniff shrugged. "'Ow else would 'e know about it?"

They turned the corner and got their first glimpse of Actor's hideaway: the block of flats probably dated from the 1920s, and the smooth curved lines of the recessed balconies gave it an Art Deco feel. Despite the war effort, the block still had its protective railing fence, but they were pleased to find that the entrance gate was open. There was a large open porch over the main entrance, and they looked at the bank of bell pushes, trying to find the one they wanted.

Goniff found number 6 and looked at the card next to it: Jean-Pierre Lebeau. Casino's thumb hit the button and stayed there for ten seconds.

There was no response from the flat.

Goniff kept watch while Casino slipped sprung steel between the door and jamb and forced the lock to open. The hallway had a white marble floor, a tasteful bank of post boxes, an understated chandelier, and a couple of wing chairs at a circular table in one corner. At the back of the hall a grand staircase led the eye to the landing where a discrete sign told them that flats 5 and 6 were upstairs on the left.

Goniff felt as though the pile of the stair carpet was brushing his ankles. They reached the landing and turned left: at the end of a short corridor was another small hallway, and flat six was on the right. Casino marched straight up and knocked loudly on the door; Goniff stayed back, and noticed that the reflected light on the door of flat five moved very slightly as it was pushed to. He whistled softly to attract Casino's attention, then nodded curtly towards the now closed door.

Before Casino had moved close enough for Goniff to explain what he'd seen, the door opened and an oldish man with a balding head of grey hair stepped out. He was of average height, but with a build that said wiry rather than thin. He was wearing a dress shirt without a tie and the trousers of a dinner suit. He looked at them through roundish glasses. "Hello."

"We're looking for Jean-Pierre."

"He said there would be four of you."

"There's just the two of us."

"He left drawings of you. They're very accurate. He said to ask you to wait over at the Mucky Duck. I'll let him know you're here."

Goniff thought that Casino was going to argue, so he stepped in quickly. "Thanks, mate. Tell 'im we'll be there til ten." The man nodded. "Come on."

Casino started to follow Goniff, then stopped abruptly. "Where the hell's the Mucky Duck?"

The old man pulled on a dark overcoat, then watched from the window of his darkened flat as the American and the Cockney crossed the road and disappeared round the corner towards the Black Swan. He waited for a few more minutes, watching the street, then made his way downstairs. He waited again in the shadow of the porch, but saw only innocent passers-by, so he decided it was safe to go. He turned onto the pavement and walked unhurriedly along the street, past more blocks of flats, past the little private park, over the main road and up to the steps of the large old church. Appearing to read the notice board, he checked around again, then walked casually up the steps and pushed open the church door.

Knowing he couldn't open the large church door without attracting attention, Chief started to make his way around the outside of the building, looking for another point of entry.

Actor had waited semi-patiently while the other penitents made their confessions; when the last one left he politely opened the door for her, wishing her a good evening, and closed it firmly behind her. Then he balanced a trio of pennies on the big latch.

His limping strides took him swiftly to the confessional booth: his legs were too long to allow him to kneel, so he sat on the kneeler and pulled his knees up to his chin.

"Bénissez-moi, mon Père, parce que j'ai péché."

He waited for the standard response, but the silence lengthened.

"Bénissez-moi, Marcel, parce que j'ai péché."

"C'est vraiment toi?"

"C'est vraiment moi."

A pause, then the priest continued in French, "And have you returned to the Church, mon fils?"

"Hélas, non... But I have returned to you."

"Then perhaps we should continue this conversation in the vestry, where we can talk over a glass of something."

"I need the sacramental seal."

"Mon Dieu!" He slipped back into the traditional wording. "How long since your last confession, my son?"

"Since before we first met."

The priest made the sign of the cross. "You know that I cannot hear a partial confession. It must be a full confession." He paused. "Perhaps we should get a Fortnum's hamper. Or two."

Despite himself, Actor chuckled.

The priest must've heard a hollowness in the sound, for he became serious again. "You want me to hear your confession."

"I need the benefit of your wisdom."

"Ah."

"But I cannot speak openly of the circumstances."

"What are you doing in war-torn London?"

"War work."

"The dangerous kind?" This met with a silence. "You always liked danger." He sighed. "We were always friends, Jean-Pierre. You know you have the seal of the sacrament. What is troubling you so badly that you seek me –" He stopped mid-sentence. "Ah."

"Yes."

"Of course. I should've realised. But it has been such a long time. Thank you, Jean-Pierre." He paused again. "I hope that the money was not ill-gotten?"

"I would never embarrass you, Marcel. It was liberated. When I heard of the work you were doing it seemed appropriate."

"Thank you. From all of them. But you want to discuss something with me?"

"We have known each other, off and on, for many years. You have on occasion blistered my ears with your rebukes. You have never flattered me."

On the other side of the booth the priest nodded slowly. "And you never took any notice of me."

"No, Marcel. That is not true. I listened to what you said, but I did not always agree with you. Our – conversations - helped me to formulate my own philosophy, my own morality. I agreed with many of your ideas, but we disagreed on their meaning and importance, and how they interacted." He gazed at his knees, then looked at the little grille. "Our differences came from God. You always believed, and I don't think I ever did."

"But now you need someone to tell you the truth?"

"I need someone who will be honest with me."

"Continue."

"Last week I came within a few minutes of being shot for raping a girl." He paused. "The firing squad consisted of our allies."

"Continue."

"Earlier today a young woman whom I swear I have never met looked at me with hatred that came from the bottom of her soul."

"And why does this disturb you?"

"Because... Because I have never knowingly hurt a woman."

"Even those from whom you have taken money and jewels?"

"Especially those."

"And why is it so important not to hurt women?"

Actor thought before answering. "They are wonderful beings. Both physically and spiritually."

"And men?"

Another pause for thought. "Many men suffer from overinflated egos. It amuses me to deflate them. To restore a sense of proportion. Of reality."

"So you think it is still acceptable to treat them differently? I think you are slipping behind the times, Jean-Pierre. One thing this war has shown us all is that it is the women who cope, who endure, who suffer and yet smile. The women here queue for food so that the men at the front can have better rations. The men at the front fight for a short time and then get pulled back to fight another day. The women here suffered the Blitz every night for months, but still worked every day, despite seeing their homes shattered and having to send their children away. These things will not unhappen, my friend. Women will no longer be playthings. They will expect to play their part in all things, and I think, God willing, they will make the world a gentler place."

"I do not see..."

"These two women – one wanted to destroy you, the other detests you for no reason you can fathom. My dear friend, has it not occurred to you that perhaps this is not about you? Perhaps it is about them?" He smiled gently as the silence extended. "You have been blessed by God in so many ways, my friend, that you have always been able to dictate terms to your women. But now it may be that this situation will no longer hold good."

Both their heads jerked up as the three pennies clattered onto the flags and the church door opened. Actor opened the door a fraction to watch as Walter pushed his way through the black-out curtain and looked around the gloomy church: he saw rather than heard Walter whisper his name. He looked at the grille. "What should I do?"

"What you do best, my friend. Find out about the women, ask them why, and listen to their answers. Then apply that intelligence of yours. I would advise you to pray for God's help, but I think in this case He will expect me to help you in His stead. You know I will always be here for you."

"I have to go."

"Bless you, my friend. Go with God."

"Au revoir, Marcel. Thank you." He did not see the priest make the sign of the cross over his retreating back.

Walter pulled his overcoat around him and watched as Jean-Pierre limped down the aisle: even injured, the man carried himself like a prince. "You have news for me?"

Walter glanced round unnecessarily before answering. "Two of them are here. The Cockney and the New Yorker."

"When?"

"Twenty minutes ago. They're waiting for you in the pub."

"You were not followed?"

"No – I made sure."

"Thank you, my friend." He paused. "I will be going back with them. Tonight."

"Right."

"Thank you for all your help."

"Any time, mate." He stretched out his hand, and Actor shook it. "Best of luck."

"Thank you." He watched as Walter pushed back through the curtain and heard the door close behind him. Slowly he turned and saw his friend standing in front of the altar rail. Marcel smiled and made a blessing, then turned and knelt to pray.

Actor left the church quickly and ducked to the side of the door. "Chief?"

The Indian melted out of the shadows.

"Have you been waiting long?" Chief shook his head. "Where is the Warden?"

"HQ. Meetin' with the Major. You're supposed to be there."

"So I have been reported AWOL?"

"Dunno. Think the Warden will stall for as long as he can. He sent you a message." Chief watched as Actor's eyebrows lifted a fraction. "He says he'll back you to the hilt. He wants you to go back. But if you can't, he's sent you a passport, some other papers and about ten thousand in cash." Chief fished inside his jacket and produced an envelope. "The manila envelope," he said by way of explanation. "We all got the same."

"Casino and Goniff? They are at the Black Swan?"

"Yeah."

They fell into step, heading towards the rendezvous. After about an hundred yards, Actor said, "How long have you know about my flat?"

Chief shrugged. "Eighteen months."

"You followed me?"

Chief nodded, unrepentant. "Warden still doesn't know."

Actor stopped and turned. "For – reasons I should prefer not to disclose, I should be grateful if you would forget where you found me."

The Indian shrugged. "I've forgotten."


	3. Chapter 3

All Will Be Well

Part Three

Garrison heard the ringing, and automatically reached out to switch off the alarm clock. Then he realised the clock wasn't where it ought to be, the ringing sound wasn't right, and his head and shoulders hurt. He'd fallen asleep at his desk, and the ringing was the phone. He sat up, shook his head to try to clear it, then picked up the receiver. "Garrison."

The voice at the other end didn't identify itself, but Garrison recognised the Sergeant Major's dulcet tones. "Both jeeps are back, sir, both in one piece _and_ without pieces missing."

Garrison's gaze was transfixed by the manila envelope on the desk in front of him. It was bulky, it was sealed, it was sellotaped. A soft smile crept into his eyes as he checked the signatures under the sellotape: they'd all signed their _noms de guerre_. All of them.

All four of them.

A smile spread across his haggard face. "They're all here, Sar'nt. They're all here."

A shower, a shave and a change of clothes made him feel better, but he knew that the cons' return was only the start of the battle. But at least he now had the troops with which to fight it. He started towards Actor's room, then changed his mind and went down to the kitchen instead. While the coffee was brewing he carefully planned his next few moves.

He knocked on Actor's door.

"Come." Actor was sitting up in bed with a book resting on his knees; he put it aside as he recognised his visitor. Patches of bruising on his bare chest and arms acted as reminders, should they be needed, that the man had had a rough week.

Garrison closed the door behind himself, transferred one of the two mugs he carried to his right hand and walked across the room to place one of the mugs on the coaster on the beside cabinet. Then he took a step back and pinned on his face a fearsome scowl. "You ever run out on me again and I'll come after you and string you up by the balls. You don't run from me – you run to me. Capisci?" He half turned and gestured to the arm chair, and asked in a mild, polite voice, "May I?"

Despite his state of mind, Actor had to bite his cheek to stop himself laughing. The words of Julian of Norwich flooded unbidden into his mind as he murmured, "Please do."

Garrison sat down and took a sip of coffee before continuing. "They're all coming here at ten. Colonel, Major, couple of SOE people – and Lisette." Actor nodded. Garrison tried again. "I told 'em you were getting physio on the calf. Private doctor."

"Thank you for covering for me." Actor's voice was soft and sincere.

Garrison reminded himself that the man in front of him was probably the exception to the rule about fooling all of the people all of the time.

"What's this all about?"

Actor stalled by picking up his coffee, taking a sip, then looking up at the ceiling. "I don't know."

"I think we can say she's SOE. You don't remember meeting her?"

Actor shook his head curtly. "I wish I did. At least then I would know what I'm up against." He looked Garrison straight in the eye. "Not only do I not recall ever meeting her, neither do I recall ever doing anything so dreadful as to kindle such a response in anyone."

Garrison digested this. "When they get here – d'you want the others in on it?"

Actor shook his head. "They will be listening in anyway – it could be useful to have an escape route."

"I want us to see this through."

Anger flashed over the Italian's face. "Like Luisa?" Garrison had the good grace to look guilty, and seeing the guilt calmed Actor a little. "Once again I find myself a puppet with a woman controlling my strings. I do not like it."

"Then let's get some scissors and cut the strings." Garrison stood up. "One more thing. Why did you run out on me?"

Actor looked at the floor. "I needed some time to think. To consider matters without the pressures of this place." He looked up, directly into Garrison's eyes. "But it was a temporary solution only. I always intended to return."

"Good. Next time – no, there's not going to be a next time. Let's get this one straightened out."

By 9.30am they were all in place. Casino had planted his bugs and checked them, and was standing by his electronic equipment in the next room. No-one liked to tell the Warden that his office was now double-bugged. Chief had a jeep filled with petrol, loaded it with emergency kit and checked it out ready to leave in a hurry if necessary, and then positioned himself in the courtyard so that he could see Casino's signal. Goniff was on butler duties: he would escort the visitors to Garrison's office, then bring up refreshments and be available to do any jobs Garrison might consider necessary, including setting off stun, gas or smoke grenades.

Actor settled down to wait in the common room with his book and his pipe. He did not like not being in control of a situation, so he exercised control over everything that he could use to influence the outcome. He knew he looked splendid: his dazzling white silk shirt was fresh from Jermyn Street; the dark charcoal grey Saville Row suit had been cut not only to emphasise the length of his legs but also the breadth of his shoulders and the depth of his chest; his black shoes were by Lobb. But the _pièce de résistance_ was the salmon pink and cucumber green striped silk tie.

He was determined to give the performance of his life.

The American contingent arrived first: Goniff played his role efficiently, but Major Johns saw Actor through the open door, and diverted into the common room. "You - soldier!" he barked at Actor from just inside the door.

Actor lifted his eyes from his book, read the pips and struggled to his feet, favouring his right leg. "Major?"

"Why aren't you in uniform, soldier?"

"I am not entitled to wear the United States army uniform, Major. I believe my status has been defined as 'civilian specialist advisor'." Actor's tone was silky; no-one would be able to accuse him of being anything but helpful and respectful. "And given the apparent seriousness of the current situation, I would prefer not to compound the difficulties by bringing disgrace on your uniform."

The Major started to turn away, but saw Goniff in his Army uniform. "So why are you wearing uniform?" he snapped, not liking to be beaten. "If I'm not mistaken, you're another of these '_civilian specialist advisors'_." His voice dripped sarcasm.

Goniff snapped smartly to attention, looking past Major Johns at Actor. "Yessir."

Actor limped painfully over to the two men, leaning heavily on his silver handled cane. "Our duties require us to dress appropriately, Major. Given that many senior officers are on site today Goniff has been allocated the role of aide-de-camp. Uniform is therefore appropriate for him: it sends the correct signals and smoothes diplomacy." Actor did not acknowledge the less-than-diplomatic signals being made by Garrison from his office door, but he continued, "Would you like me to accompany you to the lieutenant's office, or would you prefer to spend a few minutes alone with him before the meeting begins?" He knew the second part of the question was spurious as he could see Chief escorting Lisette and two British Army officers up the stairs, but by asking it he ensured that the Major would not have the opportunity to reply.

The Colonel stood slightly to one side, only a slight twitch of the corners of his mouth betraying his enjoyment of the action.

The sight of Actor caused Lisette to pause on the stairs. Actor met her gaze and his head lifted slightly in unconscious challenge. She stared back openly at him, slowing completing her climb without breaking the clash of wills. Finally she turned to the Captain on her left. "Vous m'excusez pour un moment." Then she walked up to the tall Italian and looked him straight in the eye. "I owe you an apology, M'sieur. And I think also an _explication_."

Actor used every means at his disposal to dominate the situation: he leaned slightly forward so that she had to crick her neck even higher to maintain eye contact, and he turned on the charm like a tap in full flow. "Mam'selle, I should be enchanted to hear the explanation, and then we can decide together if an apology is appropriate."

"Then we can talk?" She didn't wait for his reply, but turned to the assembly of officers which now included Garrison. "We'll talk in here," she said imperiously. "Alone."

Following her into the common room, Actor wondered what had happened to the petrified girl on the landing. He closed the door firmly behind him.

Used to dealing with hiccoughs, Garrison smiled. "Gentlemen, shall we take coffee in my office?"

Sitting around the table in Garrison's room, the Colonel took charge. He looked to the British contingent first. "Captain Jenkins, would you care to open for your team?"

But Jenkins merely turned to his Sergeant and nodded.

Sergeant Wilkinson seemed totally unfazed by the amount of brass around him: he took centre stage confidently. "Sir. Colonel, gentlemen. Captain Jenkins is Mam'selle Bruller's handler, but he was off duty when the call came in, so I took it. I'd been her minder during debrief, and we got on pretty well. And I escorted her down from Scotland, so I knew where she was." He looked around at his audience. "Bit of a storm in a teacup, really. She saw your man in a restaurant near Brest. Apparently he was an SS Standartenführer and he came in with the local commandant, a Hauptmann who used the place regularly. Usually the Hauptmann dined alone, but sometimes he had a guest, so the Resistance bugged the table on the off-chance. Je – Lisette had the job of listening in, and she watched him through a concealed spyhole in the ceiling.

"She said he was good – very good. They were discussing tactical methods of dealing with the Resistance, and your man was proposing that the Jerries behave correctly towards the French so's to win their co-operation." He smiled at the Colonel. "If you'll forgive the language, sir, she said that your man – Actor? Actor - was so bloody good looking that she knew that if the Jerries followed his tactics, France was totally lost. Where the Jerries behave well, there's a lot of 'fraternisation' between the occupying troops and the locals, especially the girls, if you catch my drift, and the Resistance movement's usually pretty weak. She said all the women in bar were whispering about him – I thought he'd just be your average deb's delight, but now that I've seen him, I can tell he's a bit more than that. And he seems to have a sense of humour too.

"Anyway, sirs, your Standartenführer became a bit of a hate symbol to Lisette. She came to regard him as the incarnation of everything German and deadly. She built up a character around him that was everything she hated about the occupation and how difficult it made life – a sort of hate figure that reminded her why she was doing her job. So when she saw him at her mother's, she flipped." He shrugged. "Like I said, sirs. Bit of a storm in a teacup." The Sergeant appeared to be about to add something, but changed his mind, and fell silent.

Lisette and Actor joined them some ten minutes later; it soon became clear that neither of them intended to add to the collective pot of knowledge, so the party broke up. Actor remained in the room as it cleared, and Garrison could see that the frown of worry was still on his forehead.

In the hall, the Colonel stopped the British NCO. "Sergeant, you were going to add something to your report. What was it?"

"Just – just that Je – Lisette found it ironic that your man left a book for her mother to read. _Le Silence de la mer._ Have you read it, sir?" The colonel shook his head. "It's about the problem of collaboration, sir. The one I was talking about."

"Oh. And you said something about our man's sense of humour."

The Sergeant couldn't suppress a grin. "Yes, sir." The Colonel raised an eyebrow. "It's the tie, sir. It's a club tie." The Colonel raised the other eyebrow. "The Garrick."

A smile flashed over the Colonel's face, and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "Thank you, Sergeant. Anything else you'd like to add?"

"No, sir."

"Fine. Then carry on." He turned. "Major!" Johns turned from his conversation with Captain Jenkins. "Wait for me outside." And then he was marching back to Garrison's office.

Garrison was ready for him. "Forget something, sir?"

"I want to meet your men."

When the visitors finally left, Garrison insisted the the bugs be removed from his office immediately: Casino obligingly removed the ones the Warden knew about but managed to plant another one in the light fitting: as back-up, he said later.

After lunch Garrison returned to his office and shut the door. Although he knew it was too early, he poured himself a double from the bottle in the drawer and took the glass and a fresh cigarette over to the window. He gazed out unseeing onto the rolling English countryside and wondered what he could do about Actor. The man was still not right. But there was not much he could do because Actor would not let him do anything: his best plan was to wait until the man was ready to talk about it. Which might be never.

Sighing, he returned to his desk and opened the drawer take out the pile of papers on which he had to work that afternoon. On the top of the pile was the manila envelope. He picked it up and ran his fingertips over the sellotape that covered the four signatures, a warm feeling inside him becoming a warm smile on his face.

The smile froze. He tore the envelope open and poured the contents onto his desk.

It contained carefully shaped old newspaper.


End file.
